I’m about to go in search of Tomasetti, when I see him coming out of the house. The scowl he’s wearing softens when he spots me, and he starts toward me. “You’re getting wet, Chief.”

The fact that I hadn’t noticed tells me something about my frame of mind. I’m unduly glad to see him—for myriad reasons—and it takes a good bit of self-discipline to keep myself from putting my arms around him. “Anything new?” I ask.

“Going to take a while to figure this one out,” he tells me. “How are the hostages?”

I’ve spent the last hour in the tunnel with Sadie Miller, Bonnie Fisher, and the third girl, who, we believe, is Ruth Wagler, while the local locksmith dismantled the shackles.

“Sadie Miller and Bonnie Fisher are in relatively good condition. Physically anyway.” I look at Tomasetti and sigh. “The third girl is in terrible shape. She’s emaciated and weak. Nearly catatonic.”

“I called the Waglers,” he tells me. “Sheriff’s deputy is driving them down from Sharon.” He pauses. “Did you speak with the Miller girl’s family?”

“I called Glock and had him run out to my sister’s farm. They were . . . ecstatic. And thankful.” I grin. “Gave all the credit to God.”

“Ah . . . the bane of being a cop.”

We watch an ambulance pull away. I find myself thinking about the body I found. “Any more remains?”

“One of the deputies found bones in the hog pen,” he tells me. “Two skulls.”

“Jesus.” I stave off a shiver, trying not to think about what that means.

“We’re going to search the entire property. Sheriff’s office is going to bring in some cadaver dogs.”

I sigh, wondering if we’ll ever get the full story of what happened and why. “Have you talked to Noah Mast?”

He nods. “One of the troopers and I did while we were waiting for the ambulance. Kid’s a mess. Doesn’t even know what year it is.”

I struggle to wrap my brain around that. The conditions were truly horrific—dirty, unsanitary, damp. The hostages were malnourished and filthy. I can’t imagine the psychological toll nine years would take.

“Does he know his parents are dead?” I ask.

“Not yet.”

A snatch of memory pushes at the back of my brain. “All of this makes me wonder what really happened to the sister.”

Tomasetti nods. “We asked Noah about her. Evidently, the parents blamed him for her death.”

“But it was a suicide.”

“Maybe. We’ll need to take a look at the autopsy report. Maybe even exhume her body.”

I’m still thinking about the parents and how they could lay blame on their son. “Did Noah say why they blamed him?”